My pulse sped up and my lungs wouldn’t work. He was inches from me, his gaze locked on my lips.
A grin crept across his face and he pulled away. “I’ve got an idea. You brought a bathing suit, right?”
Without waiting for an answer, he took hold of my hand, tugged me from the water, and scooped up our shoes.
“Let me see those feet,” he said. “Leech check.”
I yanked my sandals from his grasp. “I’m fine.”
When we got back to camp, Noah pointed toward the dressing area. “Get your suit on and meet me on the other side of the cabin.”
“Are you sure you have time?” I said. “Weren’t you heading out on patrol tonight?”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Just get dressed.”
I found my pack, slipped behind the dressing wall, and got changed into my swimsuit. There was a tiny mirror mounted to the wall. I checked my hair. Nothing between my teeth. I chomped on a piece of mint gum, just for the mint, then spit it back out.
When I came around the building, Noah was waiting for me, ready to go. He sat atop the ATV in a pair of swimming trunks and flip-flops. No shirt. I hesitated. A tiny cyclone fluttered through my insides. I’d forgotten those abs, that chest. That toned, muscular body. And those biceps. Well defined. Not too big.
I stood there staring at him, him staring at me.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“I thought we were going swimming.”
“Snorkeling.” He patted a net bag he’d strapped to the rack on the back of the four-wheeler. “I’ve got masks and snorkels. Doug told me about a great spot. Hop on.”
“Hold on,” I said and ran back to my pack, slipped on a pair of shorts, then ran back again. I threw my leg up and over the seat on the ATV and plopped down behind him. “Okay, now I’m ready.”
“Make sure to hold on, now,” he said with a grin.
I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my bare skin against his. My body reacted in familiar, uncontrollable ways.
The ATV fired up with the push of a button and off we went, bouncing down a narrow trail through the palmettos, heading north.
Noah didn’t hesitate when we came to a Y in the trail, veering to the left. After another quarter mile of potholes, we arrived at a secluded beach. He killed the engine and waited for me to get off before he did.
“They call this turtle cove,” he said. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Tucked amid drooping palm trees and ringed by a sandy beach, the protected lagoon’s deep emerald water didn’t have a ripple on it.
He handed me my snorkel gear. “The water here is crystal clear.”
I stood there, holding the bag of gear, watching him put on his mask and adjust the straps. He fit so perfectly into the scene, as if he were meant to be here, part of the landscape of a tropical paradise. I couldn’t imagine him working in a cubicle on Wall Street, with a starched white shirt and tie snugged tightly around his neck.
There was something about him, something wild and free, that made me want to throw off all my tethers and run away with him forever. We’d live in his treehouse on the ocean, raising orchids by day and raiding illegal animal trade warehouses by night. We could expand the butterfly house to include other conservation exhibits, maybe an injured animal rehab facility. We’d teach the locals about conservation tourism and—
“You okay?”
“What? Yes.” I quickly raised my mask to my head to get it fitted.
“You were a million miles away.” His forehead creased with concern.
I looked him in the eyes. “Nope, right here.”
I turned and waded into the lagoon, carefully placing my feet to avoid stepping on anything fragile, or worse, a jellyfish. Noah was right beside me.
Once we were about waist deep, we slipped our fins on, snugged up our masks, and plunged in.
Sunlight rippled across the sandy bottom where green seagrasses danced in the current. As we swam toward the center, into the deeper area of the lagoon, I noticed Noah stopped kicking. In front of him, a turtle swam along the bottom, its flippers out to the sides. It wasn’t much larger than a frisbee. A small one, but beautiful. It moved through the water with ease, graceful as a bird in flight.
I caught a flash of yellow below it. A little remora fish followed under its flipper. The turtle swiped its flippers back and slowly headed skyward, toward the surface, at a forty-five degree angle. Only one stroke and it floated the rest of the way up, no hurry. The head popped out, it took a breath, and, with a flick of the flippers, it swam downward again, head first, at the same angle it had come up, the remora staying with it in perfect syncronation.
Once on the bottom again, it settled in, munching along on the grass, gliding effortlessly through the water.
Noah and I swam away, giving it some space.
There was no coral or rocks in the lagoon. Just a carpet of seagrass. Turtle heaven.
We swam only a few yards and saw another turtle. This one was huge. The size of a coffee table, with three fish tucked under its belly. It had all day to hover over the grass, nibbling. Not a care in the world. It looked up at me, briefly, then went back to grazing, indifferent to my presence. This turtle had seen snorkelers before.
They’re so awkward on land, slow and encumbered. But in the water, they move as though perfectly adapted for their environment.
Even though the turtles didn’t seem too disturbed by our visit, I felt like I was intruding in their world. I swam toward shore, to where I could stand up waist deep in the water. Noah followed.
I pulled off my mask. “That was incredible,” I said, wiping water from my forehead and pushing my hair back out of my face.
“I knew you’d like it.” He dunked underwater, combing his fingers through his long hair as he came back up.
“The turtles are so graceful, so gentle. I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting them.”
He nodded, his eyes settling on me with a look of anticipation.
“What kind of patrols are you running? Are they only vulnerable on the beach or out to sea as well?”
“Well, mostly—”
“And Doug said seven miles of beach. What about the other beaches? What happens there?”
“Well, you know how—”
“And it’s just the eggs they’re after? Nikki showed me the jewelry. They must go after the shells too. And the meat. How are you protecting them from that?”
He eased back. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”
I frowned, looked down at the mask in my hand. “I don’t. I guess.”
My hair was tangled in the damn snorkel where it attached to the mask. I yanked.
“Let me help you with that,” he said. He took it from my hands and worked it from the mess, twisting it one way, then pulling individual strands through.
He was inches from me. His broad, naked shoulders glistened with water droplets. I tried not to look, not to think about his body next to mine. I swear he was purposefully taking his time, knowing what being so close did to me.
Finally, he tugged the mask free. Without taking his eyes from mine, he gently ran his fingers along my cheek and tucked my hair behind my ear.
We stood there, staring at each other. I couldn’t look away. I could feel his desire, radiating from him like the morning sun. Yet he didn’t make a move. He didn’t reach for me. He simply held me with his eyes.
My toes curled in the sand. “Thanks for bringing me here,” I managed.
“I thought it might make you smile. I like to see you smile.”
That made me smile. And blush.
“You’re stunning when you smile.”
Oh, this guy. I leaned forward.
And he was there. His lips met mine and I gave in to the soft caress of his tongue.
I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck.
He had his hand at my back and pulled me to him, hungry, on fire. His bare chest pressed against me, his warmth building with mine. His kiss grew more intense,
his passion surging.
I wanted to give in completely. To let go. But I just couldn’t. I jerked back.
“It’s okay. There’s no one around for miles,” he said and tugged me back to him.
“No, I—” I pulled away. “I just—I need a moment.”
He looked at me, his breath coming in short pants, his expression a mixture of confusion and frustration.
What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking. I got caught under his spell. This man was not good for me. When I was with him, my brain disengaged. He made me crazy. It didn’t matter how hot he was or how right it felt. Like the feel of his hands on my—I couldn’t go there. It was too risky.
“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to see you and I—”
Now he pulled away. “It’s all right,” he said, but I could tell he was disappointed. He looked at me a little longer, then seemed to accept my reluctance. “Let’s get back to camp. Tonight might be a big night, an arribada, we hope, and I should probably get a little shuteye.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding too much.
Chapter Four
Back at the camp, Chris and Doug were nowhere to be found. Probably down their own romantic trail. The students were gone too. José was sacked out in a hammock.
Lucky greeted me, bopping around in circles, her tail wagging. “Oh now you’re happy to see me? Now that Chris has gone away.” I gave her ears a scratch.
“I’m going to grab a nap,” Noah said, but didn’t move to go. “You should probably try to nap, too.”
Right. I had way too much on my mind. “I think I’ll take a walk on the beach and look for sea glass.”
“Okay. If you wouldn’t mind, wake me by, say, five, and we’ll have time to go see if any nestlings have hatched before we head out on patrol.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “I’d really like to see that.”
“Do me a favor? Take a bag for litter? Camp rule, actually. We all pick up trash to help protect the turtles. Plastic bags are the worst.”
“Sure, of course.” I turned to go.
“They look like jellyfish, a tasty menu item for sea turtles.” I could tell he was going on because he didn’t want me to leave. “But when one is ingested, it blocks the turtle’s digestive tract and any food it eats is trapped and releases gases that cause the turtle to become too buoyant and unable to dive for food.”
“I understand.”
He hesitated, as if he had something more he wanted to tell me, then turned and headed toward the sleeping area. As I watched him walk away, I fought to contain the desire to follow and crawl into his hammock with him.
Crap. What was I going to do? Dalton. Noah. My job. I glanced back at the cooking shed. I wonder if they have any wine.
Instead, I found a trash bag in the cabin, donned my umbrella-sized sun hat and sunglasses, then headed north, Lucky at my side.
The breeze, salty and fresh, was cooler next to the water.
Once I was beyond sight of the camp, I stopped to take it all in and take a deep breath. I dug my feet down into the hot, dry sand until my toes found where it was cool and moist and stood there watching the waves crash along the shore, each curl stirring up the tiny shells and sand grains at the edge and dragging them out to sea.
There’s something primally soothing about the rhythm of the surf. I tried to get my own breathing to match, to be in tune with the sea. I needed this.
Being in nature always soothes my soul. I closed my eyes, felt the warm sun on my skin, and listened to the sound of the waves, the wind whooshing through the palms, birds squawking mid-flight.
Noah. Yes or no? Every part of my being wanted to be with him. He was sweet, sexy, smart. But he was trouble. I’d been damn lucky I didn’t get fired after colluding with him in Costa Rica. His idea of taking down the bad guys was right out of a Hollywood blockbuster. The law be damned. Hit ‘em where it hurts ‘em most.
The problem was, I liked his style. Most of the time, I pretty much agreed with him. The limitations of wearing a badge were frustrating. In fact, I’d been known to push the limits. But getting involved with Noah and his escapades would get me fired for sure. Then where would I be?
But who’s to say I’d have to get involved? Maybe Chris was right. Have some fun. See how I feel. As far as Fish & Wildlife was concerned, I had a right to have a boyfriend. Now that I wasn’t undercover, and Noah would know the limits of our relationship, the demands of my job, maybe—
But in a few days, I’d be back working with Dalton.
Dalton. Was he the reason I felt uneasy about Noah? I mean, I like Dalton. A lot. He can be so damn aggravating, but he’s kind and smart and sexy as hell, in a different kind of way. And he was more…stable. “Is that what I want? Stable?” I said to the dog as I plopped down in the sand next to her. No, not stable. Pragmatic? No. What was it? Directed. In control.
“What do you think?”
Lucky looked at me with those soft brown eyes, but she had no response.
“Right. Well, none of that matters. He’s off limits.”
I forced it out of my mind and tried to focus on taking in my surroundings. I could sit in this one spot for the rest of the day, staring out at the ocean, watching each wave spread across the sand, its leading line a rim of white foam. Mesmerizing.
Then something caught my eye, an anomaly in the next wave. Lucky saw it too. She took off down the shore, barking at it. A plastic bag. It floated on the surface, then was tugged back toward the sea. I rushed out into the surf to retrieve it.
The cool water flowed around my legs toward shore, then changed direction and gently pulled toward the sea. Lucky shook next to me, spraying me with droplets of salty mist.
“Hey!”
She romped away, not a care in the world.
Onward, down the beach, I walked for what seemed like two miles or so. By that time I had to turn back, dismayed because my trash bag was full and as much as I poured my heart out to my new furry friend, she had no good advice either.
Camp was still quiet. I wished I had some time for my yoga, or to find an empty hammock and snuggle in with a book. But it was already four in the afternoon. I found a quick snack and decided I’d waited long enough.
“Time to get up,” I whispered in Noah’s ear.
The way he opened his eyes made me think he’d been lying there awake, waiting for me to appear.
“What time is it?”
“Four.”
“You missed me, huh?”
He gave me that look, that why-don’t-you-climb-in-this-hammock-with-me look.
“C’mon, get up. I’m excited. I’ve never seen a turtle hatch.”
“Right.” He rubbed his eyes. “Let’s go see.”
After we found a rope and I tied up the dog, we made the two-minute walk down the beach to the hatchery.
“I see movement,” Noah said, excitement in his voice. He pulled back the netting and held it for me to enter. “Over here.”
He grabbed a bucket and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, then knelt in the sand next to one of the markers and removed the tiny fence. “I was hoping these little guys would hatch today. Look at that.”
With a gloved hand, he gently wiped sand from the mound as tiny flippers poked through, wiggling and flapping. “It’s so amazing, isn’t it?” His face lit up with a broad smile. “Just look at that.”
“Can I help?” I asked, kneeling beside him. “What do I do? What do I do?” I could hardly contain my excitement.
“Actually, we help as little as possible. Science tells us they need the struggle. It helps them form. You can ring the bell though, if you would.” He pointed at a pole with a dinner bell at that top. “Let the others know, in case anyone wants to come and see.”
I got up and pulled the rope and the bell rang out—clang, clang, clang. Baby turtles!
“Look at that!” Noah said, pointing.
I rushed back over to the nest.
One popped out from the mass of movement, a
fully formed miniature sea turtle.
“Oh my goodness, look at it!” I said and a giggle escaped from my mouth.
“Grab another bucket, will you? I want to tag this one.” I rushed to the stack and brought him the bucket. “We’ll name this one Poppy,” he said, grinning at me.
My cheeks flushed pink. “How do you know it’s not a boy turtle?”
“Because she’s at the top of the nest. Turtle gender is determined by temperature. The eggs in the lower, cooler, part of the nest become males, while the eggs in the upper, warmer, part become females.”
“Of course, they’re reptiles,” I said. I knew that, though I admit, in the past, I’d studied more about mammals and birds. I had a lot to learn about turtles.
Another little turtle emerged from the writhing sand. Then another. Noah smiled with a child-like joy. “Isn’t this cool?”
My head bobbed in agreement.
One by one, they crawled out of the nest. “They’re fast little buggers,” I said. “Look at that. Once they get the rhythm of their flippers pushing against the sand they can really move.”
“Yep,” he said, gently picking one up and placing it in the bucket. “We let them get a few feet from the nest before we pick them up.”
Chris and Doug arrived as well as two of the students and José.
“Look at them!” I said to Chris. “It looks like the sand is boiling.”
He and Doug entered the hatchery to see.
José came in behind them. “That’s why they call it a turtle boil.”
“How do they hatch all at once like that?” I asked.
“As the baby turtles break free from their shells inside the nest, they stimulate other hatchlings to emerge from their eggs, too. They literally climb on top of each other to propel themselves up and out. Emerging together increases the chance of survival. A single hatchling would be an easy target for predators.”
He took a notebook from a plastic storage box in the corner, sifted through the pages, and found the entry for the nest that was hatching. “Ninety-seven eggs,” he told Noah while handing a second bucket to Doug.
Noah glanced at me. “Help me count.”
As the little turtles scrambled about, we all took a quadrant and counted, keeping track of our hatchlings before Noah or José could scoop them up. They somehow knew to head right for the sea.
Operation Turtle Ransom: A suspenseful, wild-ride-of-an-adventure on a tropical beach in Mexico (Poppy McVie Mysteries Book 4) Page 5
